


Alike in Dreams

by DryadGurrl



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen, Lucid Dreaming, dreamland shenanigans, giving advice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-27
Updated: 2013-02-27
Packaged: 2017-12-03 18:34:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/701354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DryadGurrl/pseuds/DryadGurrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two different archers, two different comas, one shared dream.  What else is there to do but talk shop?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alike in Dreams

The bow in the case was a thing of beauty, absolutely gorgeous. The curve was reminiscent of a bird in flight and Clint was just itching to pick it up. He was about to, even, when there was a feline hiss and a tanned arm reached out to snatch it away. He hadn't even realized there was anyone else there.

His brow furrowed, blinking at her because _Christ_ she was just a kid. Though he had to remember that _he'd_ been a kid like that, once upon a time, and she was protecting what was hers, which was something he could respect. Especially a weapon like that one. Maybe that was what this was about, or something, he wasn't going to analyze it, he was just going to smile, give a one-shouldered little shrug, "It's a nice bow."

She eyed him for a moment, suspicious, the bow cradled in the crook of one arm because she'd missed it, "Thank you." She replied after a moment, "A friend designed it for me." And it wasn't strange to her to refer to Beetee as a friend, not here. If anything it made sense, dreams were where things were clearer than they were in the waking world, for good or for bad. She knew it was a dream because there was no way they would let her have her bow back, and especially this one, while she was still up in the tower.

Her head tilted, studying him, trying to figure out who he was, usually she only dreamed about people she knew, people she'd failed. He could have been someone from the Capitol, though if he was he was dressed down, and he seemed sharper than most of them did. He could have been from one of the other districts, she supposed, but she wasn't sure from where, especially since he looked almost like a Peacekeeper. Almost.

"Who are you?" She asked, still watching him but tracking the room with her peripheral vision, as she couldn't quite place it either. It could almost have been the training room at the base of the tower, could almost have been one of the testing rooms back in District 13, while it was familiar she didn't quite recognize it.

"Hawkeye." He answered, it seemed more honest than 'Clint' at the moment, though he couldn't quite place why, and being honest with her seemed like the best idea, she looked haunted, maybe even hunted, and he didn't want to do anything that would turn her into a threat, especially in unfamiliar territory. Sure, the place was almost like the training range on the helicarrier, and it was almost like the setup under the tower, but it wasn't exactly either one. His brow arched, "How about you?"

She smiled, a small, amused smile, "I'm the Mockingjay." She nodded to the wall behind him, there was a simple weapons rack there. Honestly Katniss wasn't sure if it had been there before or not, but it was a dream and any dream that didn't involve stark raving terror and bottomless wells of guilt was a good one, and she was going to take it, stranger involved or not, "You shoot?"

Clint's brow furrowed, turning to look at what she was indicating, surprised by the selection of bows, and puzzled, briefly, by the various other weapons, a trident, for one, and a pair of axes, and he was wondering what part of his subconscious those had come from, since he knew this was a dream, he remembered the blow to the head, and most of what had come before it, and could only surmise that this was all some coma-dream. But he was going to go with it, because he had no reason not to.

A smile broke through as he found a bow that was close enough to his own not to matter if it was different, when he turned back around, going full circle instead of back the way he'd first turned, he found that the girl had activated a control panel in the wall, retracting a section of the wall itself, one that turned out to just be a partition, revealing the actual archery range beyond, lit by a skylight, with grass underfoot and well-designed enough that he couldn't tell if it had been transplanted or preserved and decided that it didn't really matter.

The girl stepped lightly from the edge of metal plate onto the springy grass, and Clint realized for the first time that she was barefoot wearing what appeared to be some sort of prisoner's jumpsuit. She'd definitely been locked up for a while then, too long, given the way she tilted her face up into the sunlight, the small smile from before melting into something more honest. It was a moment that Clint wasn't going to interrupt, he knew that feeling.

Katniss let herself bask just for a moment, she knew it was a dream, but it felt real enough, and she was going to enjoy it, just like she was going to enjoy having real clothes. It was District 13 issue, but it was better than the paper gown she'd be wearing in the tower. She pulled herself together, stooping to fetch a quiver out of a hollow log beside the grass patch, her old hiding place. She wasn't at all surprised to find two there, her own and one that was clearly Hawkeye's, as she didn't recognize it. She offered it over with another amused smile, "Ready?"

Clint nodded, checking the arrows before shouldering the quiver, adjusting the strap reflexively the same as he always did, "What's the game?"  
The girl, this Mockingjay, shrugged, stepping further out into the grass, the area seemed larger now than it had a moment before, but he supposed that made sense, dreams did that, "Deer." She said, "Wild dogs. Birds maybe." There was a pause before she added, more quietly, almost to herself, "Presidents." That last one earned her a brow-quirk, but he wasn’t going to ask, not yet, figuring that if it was important she’d come to it on her own.

The further out they went, the more expansive the patch of woods became, she could still see glimpses of the walls beyond, but it didn’t matter, because she was home, or as close to home as she was going to be, for a while. She was pleasantly surprised to find that Hawkeye moved as easily and as silently through the underbrush as she did, it was almost like having Gale at her side again.  
She smiled when she found a deer path, indicating it with a nod of her head, slipping easily out onto it, not minding that she was barefoot, because even the trampled grass here was soft. Her new companion fell in easily behind her, giving her enough room to draw and fire whenever she was ready. She dropped to one knee when she spotted the deer across a clearing. 

Something must have given them away, however, because it bolted almost as soon as she’d done so, and she heard a quiet: “Crap, we’re upwind. You think we can circle around? Catch it at the stream?” Katniss was once again surprised that he’d even thought of that, or even knew about the stream, though she guessed he could hear it, she could too.

She nodded, unfolding to her feet again, “Probably the only way we will catch it.” She agreed, veering off through the woods once more, reminding herself that it was a dream, and she already knew the right way, she didn’t have to look for it, as it was whichever direction she wanted it to be. She stepped into the stream without hesitation, reveling in the feeling of almost ice-cold water against her skin, snowmelt, it had to be. Hawkeye followed at the same distance behind her, along the bank to give them both space.

It was only moments before they spotted the deer again, Katniss didn’t crouch this time, just shifted her weight, finding a solid enough footing in the sandy streambed, drawing an arrow, catching Hawkeye doing the same in her peripheral vision, “On three.” She murmured, little more than a breath, waiting for his nod before she smiled, “Three.”  
He’d been expecting that, apparently, as they both let their arrows fly as one.

Neither of them hit. Either the wind had picked up unexpectedly, or something else set the animal off again, or perhaps it was just that the topography of the dream itself had changed again, because both arrows struck home, millimeters away from each other, in a tree a good three feet off from the deer itself.

Clint blinked at that, brow furrowing again, “Huh.” The girl seemed similarly puzzled, though she just shook her head, “Doesn’t matter.” She settled herself on a high, flat rock in the middle of the stream then, toes still dipping in the water, “It’ll come back.” She said, and Clint just nodded, crouching at the edge of the stream himself, watching her.  
She watched him in turn, head tilted, just studying him as if she recognized him but couldn‘t place where from, "So what are you doing here?" She finally asked.

He wasn‘t entirely sure what to make of that question, so he shrugged, "I don't really know. Got knocked in the head. I haven't really been myself recently." He knew that much, and he wasn’t yet sure what he felt about it.  
She gave a solemn nod, "Sounds like you got hijacked."  
He huffed a laugh, “I guess you could say that.”  
She nodded again, watching the water eddy around her feet, "Can't say my advice is any good, but ... apologize. And if _saying_ you're sorry isn't enough, _show_ it." 

It was his turn to nod, just watching her reaction, it spoke volumes of personal experience, “I plan on it.“ He replied, “Just as soon as I wake up.” It was his turn to tilt his head, asking: “How about you?"  
She gave a rolling shrug, glancing up at the sky again before she returned her gaze to him, "Killed one president who was a secret tyrant when I was supposed to publicly assassinate her predecessor.” She shook her head, “He laughed himself to death about it. I’ve been locked up in a tower since. Waiting out the verdict.” And letting herself waste away, since that was the only real choice she had left.  
"You got windows?"  
Her brow furrowed, not sure what that question had to do with anything, "Yeah, a few."  
He smiled, a slow, crooked and wryly amused expression as he echoed: "I can't say my advice is any good, but, enjoy the view. I don't know about you, but I see better from further away."

Her head lifted at a faint baying in the distance, brow creasing, “Mutts.” It was quiet again, mostly to herself, “I should go deal with those.” She said, “This one I’ve got to face on my own. But it was good meeting you.” There was another pause as she rose, stepping easily to the far side of the stream, “And thank you, for the advice.” She slipped away between the trees then, and he watched her go, tempted, for a moment, to follow her. But she’d been right, he knew, she had to face the rest of it herself. Just like he had to face the buzzing in the back of his own mind, one that he knew meant he was going to be waking up soon, and he was going to have to face what he’d done, even if he hadn’t really been himself at the time. Hijacked, she’d said. It was a good word for it. He’d have to remember it.


End file.
